


those I know by heart

by words_unravel



Category: Panic At The Disco, Young Veins
Genre: Angels, Big Bang Challenge, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-31
Updated: 2012-01-31
Packaged: 2017-10-30 13:10:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/332070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/words_unravel/pseuds/words_unravel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>[<i>prompt:</i> originally written for <a href="http://angelic-bigbang.livejournal.com/">Angelic Big Bang</a> 2011; original idea from the completed h/c bingo prompt, <a href="http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/15368.html">Follow You Down</a>.]<br/>[<i>beta(s):</i> <span class="ljuser ljuser-name_xylodemon"><a href="http://xylodemon.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://xylodemon.livejournal.com/"><b>xylodemon</b></a></span>]<br/>[<i>warning(s):</i> amnesia and Ryan Ross with wings?]<br/>[<i>a/n:</i> First off, all the thanks to <span class="ljuser ljuser-name_xylodemon"><a href="http://xylodemon.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://xylodemon.livejournal.com/"><b>xylodemon</b></a></span> for taking the time to peruse this piece and correct all my mistakes. If you see one, please know it is entirely my fault!]<br/>[<i>a/n:</i> I am a ridiculous lamer.  As stated above, this was written for Angelic Big Bang, but I never heard from my artist and my post date came with my story incomplete (totally my fault again), so I let it lapse. The first and only time I will do that again as I felt like crap about it. Regardless of my ability, or lack thereof, in being able to complete a story on time, I hope you will enjoy this.]</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [ _prompt:_ originally written for [Angelic Big Bang](http://angelic-bigbang.livejournal.com/) 2011; original idea from the completed h/c bingo prompt, [Follow You Down](http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/15368.html).]  
>  [ _beta(s):_ [](http://xylodemon.livejournal.com/profile)[**xylodemon**](http://xylodemon.livejournal.com/) ]  
> [ _warning(s):_ amnesia and Ryan Ross with wings?]  
>  [ _a/n:_ First off, all the thanks to [](http://xylodemon.livejournal.com/profile)[**xylodemon**](http://xylodemon.livejournal.com/) for taking the time to peruse this piece and correct all my mistakes. If you see one, please know it is entirely my fault!]  
>  [ _a/n:_ I am a ridiculous lamer. As stated above, this was written for Angelic Big Bang, but I never heard from my artist and my post date came with my story incomplete (totally my fault again), so I let it lapse. The first and only time I will do that again as I felt like crap about it. Regardless of my ability, or lack thereof, in being able to complete a story on time, I hope you will enjoy this.]

>>><<<

_It's wall to wall people inside Travie's house and Brendon murmurs an apology that's immediately lost in the thumpthumpthump of the DJ's bass. The party's a success, but then McCoy can't lose when he's got Pete manning the tunes. It's always fun to watch the two of them behind the tables together; Travie's so tall and long, Pete short and loud. This town loves them._

_A familiar laugh brings Brendon's attention back around. A second later, the buzz in his pocket lets him know he's got a text. He's got to push it out from the bottom. It's a wonder his balls haven't fallen off yet, his pants are so ridiculously tight. They make his ass look fabulous though, so he'll suffer through it. The text reads simply "here" and Brendon rolls his eyes. Even after a couple of years, Spencer still acts a little high-brow occasionally. He comes from one of the richest families in Chicago, so Brendon guesses it's not all an act. Most of the time though, you'd never even know. Spencer's only concession is shoes, a closet full of them that Brendon constantly gives him shit about._

_Lifting his head at the sound of his name, Brendon's greeting catches in his throat. Brendon's preferences usually lean toward females, but Spencer Smith is gorgeous. It doesn't help that under that polished veneer is a first-class nerd. Movies, books, and music - the two have spent hours talking about them, and it gets continuously harder for Brendon not to try and climb him like a tree every time they hang out._

_Tonight's not going to be an exception._

_Spencer glances over, smiling as he catches sight of Brendon. There's a hint of eyeliner, enough that, with the pale lavender of the shirt under his blazer, Spencer's eyes are blue enough that Brendon can't breathe for a moment. It passes when Spencer turns toward him. There's an ice blonde princess with him. The kind that Brendon has not-so-fond high school memories of and the kind that are a dime a dozen at parties like this. She smiles coolly during the introductions and Brendon forgets her name five seconds later._

_> <_

_Brendon screws his eyes shut for a second, trying to focus. He knows better than to let Gabe anywhere near his drinks, shit. Some cool air sounds good though and he looks around. The second floor is quieter now, most of the party having migrated to the pool in the backyard. The steady thump of music is still there although muffled, the set-up moved out onto the patio a while back._

_Cool air, Brendon thinks again. There's a secondary balcony in one of the guest rooms and he finds it on the second try, heading immediately out into the fresh air. It's perfect, his head becoming a little less fuzzy. "Fucking Gabe Saporta," Brendon mutters._

_"You should know better by now, Bren."_

_He stumbles a little as he spins around, startled. There's a quick hand on his elbow and he can feel his heart beating a little too quickly for a different reason now._

_"Sorry," Spencer says, dropping his hand. He offers Brendon a cigarette instead, not moving away._

_Brendon's done his best this evening, he really has. After the introductions, he'd made himself scarce. It's not like he isn't trying, okay? He's had a few to drink and he should really leave. Instead, he takes the cigarette. Spencer leans in a bit, cupping his hand around the offered flame. Brendon does his best not to notice the way the flame reflects in Spencer's eyes._

_His first drag is deep and he exhales, the initial buzz of nicotine crawling across his skin. Spencer still hasn't stepped away. Brendon takes another drag before muttering, "Thanks."_

_He burns through half the cigarette before asking, "What happened to, um, Lana?"_

_Spencer huffs a laugh, "Laura." He shrugs, chin jerking towards the back of the house. "She found something more interesting."_

_"Sorry," Brendon offers and Spencer shrugs again. "To be expected."_

_Brendon frowns. "Where do you find these girls, Spence? They're always the same." Another drag. It's almost down to the filter._

_"Right." A shoulder bump makes him glance over. Spencer's grinning at him. "Like you're any different? I've seen the toys you've paraded around the town, Mr. Urie." Brendon scowls, crushing the cig against the balcony railing. "At least I like mine," he mutters._

_"What?" Spencer's tone sharpens and Brendon turns, looking up at him. "At least I like mine," he repeats._

_"And what does that mean?" Spencer frowns._

_"You sleep with these girls, Spence. These girls that are little more than purses with legs. They bore you to death, even I can see that!" Brendon's worked up now, alcohol and nicotine running through his blood. He should stop, should shut the fuck up and just go home. Instead, he steps in closer._

_Spencer moves back. "Brendon--"_

_The balcony isn't very big. Brendon moves in again. He can see the slight hint of uncertainty in Spencer's eyes and it almost makes him stop. At least, until Spencer crosses his arms and tilts his chin up with a cool, "I don't sleep with friends."_

_"Obviously," Brendon mutters. The corner of Spencer's mouth twitches and Brendon grins. A second later, Spencer relaxes, leaning back against the wall. Rolling his eyes at Brendon, he says, "So what? You going to show me what I'm missing then?_

_Brendon hums, "Maybe.". The tips of his shoes brush Spencer's._

_Spencer tilts his chin, eyebrow arching. There's a challenging little smirk on his mouth._

_His pulse leaps._

>>><<<

**THREE DAYS LATER**  
Brendon glares down at his phone. Spencer still isn't answering his calls.

"Jackass," he mutters, shoving it back into his pocket. The grocery bag slips and he shifts it to the other arm. The sun is beginning to set, shadows lengthening along the street. Crisp fall air fills his lungs as he breathes deep. It's his favorite time of the day. He thinks about the phone in his pocket, the unanswered call, and sighs heavily. Trust Spencer to ruin his enjoyment of a beautiful fall day.

Another sigh. It's not like he's ever hidden the fact that he finds Spencer attractive. When they'd met and Brendon saw Spencer smile, _really_ smile, he'd blurted out, "Holy shit, you're gorgeous," and Spencer had just laughed harder and waved it off. It's not like Spencer hasn't met Shane, Brendon's favorite ex-boyfriend, a million times.

"Jackass," he repeats. " _Stupid_ jackass."

A knock on his shoulder brings him out of the dark thoughts about Spencer. "Hey-"

His rebuke breaks off, halted by brown eyes, crinkled at the corners, and a warm smile. "Sorry," the stranger says, voice quiet. Brendon shakes his head. "No big," he manages to get out. He feels a little fuzzy. The guy smiles again and steps past Brendon, glancing up. Brendon glances up too, but doesn't see anything. Just the same old buildings that make up the walk back to his place.

"Get a grip, Urie." Brendon shakes his head and shoves his free hand down into his pocket. It hits his phone and he scowls. Good-looking guys are trouble, even ones he doesn't know. He can't help looking back though. The guy had been a little bit shorter than Brendon, a week-old beard that certain jackasses would have been jealous of, and Brendon really can't help himself when it comes to a pair of kind eyes.

The guy is standing there, still looking up. Brendon notices that he's in the street and opens his mouth to holler when an on-coming car hits the horn. It startles the guy, and Brendon watches him twist in surprise. He's too close to the curb though, foot catching. He lands hard. Brendon winces with him. Getting a better grip on his sack of groceries, Brendon makes his way over.

"You okay?" He reaches down, a helping hand on an elbow. His grip tightens though, when the guy goes to put pressure on his left leg and it crumples under him. "Not so okay, huh?" Brendon says sympathetically. He's been there.

"Apparently not." He glances in the direction of the car, muttering, "I forgot about those."

Brendon frowns. "What? Cars?" He gets an absent nod in response. Brendon looks around. They're not on a main road, but it's a fairly well-traveled side street. Brendon's about to ask how you forget about cars when the guy tries to take a step again. His ankle doesn't hold and Brendon scrambles to slide an arm around his waist. They both grunt, Brendon trying to maintain his balance with both arms full; the stranger's frustration is clear. A moment later, they're both steady.

Another car passes as they stand there. Finally, he says, "I'm Brendon."

Brendon fairly sure he doesn't imagine the slight tense in the body next to him before the responding, "Jon." It's gone a split second later when he looks up at Brendon, smile wide. "My name is Jon."

"Well, Jon." Brendon can't help grinning back. Jon's smile is infectious it seems. "You live around here?"

>

Jon doesn't, as it turns out, live anywhere near where Brendon met him.

In fact, Jon doesn't live anywhere. Anywhere he can remember, that is. Brendon wants to call bullshit--actually, he want to call Spencer, but jackass _still_ isn't answering his phone--but Jon's face is so fucking innocent-looking that he can't help but believe him. Also, Bogart hasn't left Jon's side since they made it to the apartment. Brendon would be jealous, but Jon seems to be just as taken with the dog.

Jon's an unassuming house guest, endlessly patient with Brendon's constant mental prodding. And it's not like he doesn't remember at all. Brendon had quizzed him half the night; he knows what books are, couches, dogs, refrigerators. He'd known what the computer was, and the television, but not so much about what they actually _did_ , which tickled Brendon to death. It had been even better when he'd turned them both on. At that point, Brendon had given up, switched out the ice in the towel around Jon's ankle, and they'd both sat down and watched entirely too many episodes of _Portlandia_. Jon hadn't laughed nearly as much as Brendon, but he'd known that it was supposed to be ridiculous. He seemed to get more enjoyment out of Brendon's laughter.

>

Brendon jerks awake, neck instantly cramping. The TV is still on, images flashing color around the living room. A glance at the clock shows it's a little past 4:30 in the morning. A discomfited noise has him glancing toward the couch.

A flash of pain crosses Jon's face and Brendon watches as Bogart, still asleep, whines in sympathy and snuggles closer. Shaking his head, Brendon makes his way toward his bedroom. He's not sure what the hell he's going to do with Jon, but he's definitely not going to figure it out at the butt-crack of morning.

Crashing face-first into his bed, Brendon suddenly remembers Dr. Bob.

"Perfect," he mumbles. A second later, sleep rolls him under again.

><

"In case you missed it any of the previous six times I've had to respond to--wait, let me get this right--" Dr. Bryar's back is to Brendon, but he holds a finger up, pausing, " 'Oh my god, he's _dying_ ', I am a vet."

He turns around, staring down at Brendon from what seems like an impressive height, even though he's not that much taller. Brendon's pretty sure it's the gruff, Viking-like demeanor that makes him seem so much bigger.

"It was only four times-" Brendon's not afraid to admit that he'd been a panicky parent, "and you're my only hope, O-bob-Kenobi." Brendon's also not above begging if he needs to.

"Animals, Urie." Bob brushes past him, heading back toward the lobby. "A doctor of _veterinary_ medicine. I don't do human patients."

Bob stops abruptly and Brendon's whiny " Pleeeease-" ends as his face meets Bob's back. Curious, Brendon peers around Bob's eerily still body. "Wha?--ohhh."

The veterinary assistant, Greta, is sitting next to Jon.

Greta's gorgeous. Tiny and curvaceous, with a sharp wit and tons of long, blonde hair. Currently her gaze is focused on Jon, a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. They seem to be having an earnest conversation, heads tilted close together. They make an attractive couple, sitting there beside each other.

It would be cute if not for Bob's hilariously giant, blinding crush on his VA. No, wait. It's _still_ hilarious.

Brendon's about to tease Bob when Jon looks up. "Brendon!" His face lights up and maybe Bob's giant, blinding crush is not so hilarious after all. "Oh," Brendon repeats. He waves back like a dork.

Bob's glance is palpable. "Shut up," Brendon mumbles. He ignores the underlying laughter in Bob's voice when he tells Greta to bring Jon back to Exam 3.

>><<

Spencer's nicely buzzed, just on the edge of sleep when something hits the pool. It's a large enough splash that he can feel droplets hit his bare feet. Getting his eyes open is a little harder than he was expecting, but whatever landed in the pool is flailing around enough to be alarming.

Rolling off the lounge chair, he's taken two steps toward the pool before he finally gets a real look. It stops him in his tracks, eyes widening. A hand breaks the surface, followed by what looks like a--

Spencer shakes his head and reaches the edge of the pool in a few short steps. The body is sinking under again, but Spencer manages to grab a hold of the material at his neck. There's a giant gasp for air when the heads breaks the surface and Spencer has time to mutter, "What the fuck?" before the stranger starts struggling, twisting around and trying to climb up Spencer. To get away from the water.

Leaning precariously, Spencer slips his other arm under a flailing limb in order to get a better grip. He's surprisingly light and Spencer gets a brief glimpse of dark eyes, wide and panicked, before he heaves the guy out of the pool. Despite the alcoholic content of his bloodstream, he's pretty steady. That is, until he glances over the guy's shoulder.

They land in a heap, limbs tangled, and Spencer can't breathe for a second.

The wings are still there, painted a haunting light blue by the light's reflection from the pool. Spencer reaches out to touch one, whispering, "What the actual fuck?" He's barely made contact-- _so damn soft_ \--before they jerk away. A surprisingly deep, "Don't--" cuts off with a sharp cry of pain.

They both still, staring at each other.

"Okay," Spencer finally mutters. He's more than a little drunk, really confused, and water is starting to seep through his hoodie and jeans. He hates having wet jeans. "What the hell is going on?"

It looks like he's about to get an answer when the wind picks up. Spencer can feel the shiver that goes through the body on top of his, see the wince of pain at the involuntary movement. Another breeze and Spencer watches a hint of confusion appear. It's the biting of a lip that makes him sigh heavily. Rolling his eyes, he shifts, wiggling around until he's able to stand, and says, "Let's at least take this hallucination inside where it's warmer."

The eyes staring up at him are ridiculously huge, disconcerting. Spencer lets his gaze shift. One of the wings moves down, like he's trying to hide it. Make it less conspicuous. The other one, the one Spencer touched, trembles a little but doesn't move any further. It's that that makes Spencer sigh loudly and reach down. He sounds grumpy when he says, "Come on," but he tries to keep his touch light, and to keep from hitting the injured wing.

He forgets about Boba, as they walk inside, and it's not until a startled noise from beside him makes him look down. The dog's curious, nosing at the stranger's hand. Spencer glances over and catches a glimpse of a small smile, of eyes crinkling at the corner in delight. For some reason it unsettles Spencer. He looks away, moving the two of the further into the house. Boba whines as Spencer moves them away and even the stranger's face falls a bit. Spencer feels guilty and mutters, "That's Boba," for some reason. His stomach turns. It's just all the wine, Spencer decides. The dog follows them into the kitchen. From the corner of his eye, Spencer can see the stranger look back.

Spencer feels a little lost, to be honest, as they stand there in the kitchen. Trying not to stare, looking everywhere--anywhere--else, he takes in the state of his kitchen. How it must mark him as alone, a bachelor. Not that something like that would matter to an--

"I'm going to, uh," he finally looks over, making a gesture towards the injured wing as words fail him. In the half-light o the kitchen, Spencer can see the guy's eyes are a brown, a lighter shade than Brendon's.

He breaks off that thought, turning abruptly. Mumbling, "Be back in a sec," he heads down the hall towards the bathroom. There's a first aid kit there; he vaguely recalls buying it after moving into the house. He flips on the light, blinking at the sudden brightness. In the mirror, dark circles look like bruises under his eyes. He looks tired. Sleep has been elluding him for the last few days. Spencer refuses to think about why.

From the kitchen, he can hear noises, the sound of someone walking around. Not someone, Spencer thinks. There's a guy with--with fucking _wings_ in his kitchen. It's unreal.

Spencer glances back up at his reflection. Unreal. Not real. Not real, as in he's obviously hallucinating or some shit. A guy with _wings_ , come on.

"Come on," he whispers out loud. He's trying to remember whether or not he took an Ambien before settling into dinner and the bottle of accompanying Cabernet Sauvignon. Boba's whine carries down the hallway. Spencer shakes his head, breaking his gaze with the mirror.

Okay, so he's obviously dreaming. That will teach him to fall asleep out by the pool again. He's obviously dreaming, so he's not really sure why he grabs the first aid kit out from underneath the sink before heading back to the kitchen.

>

The stranger is standing near the dining table, half-turned away, when Spencer steps back into the kitchen. Spencer takes a moment to study his hallucination. He hadn't done too bad. The guy is tall, nearly as tall as Spencer, and slender. He looks a little awkward, limbs long and thin. As Spencer watches, a finger traces over something sitting on the table. His hands are like the rest of him, fingers long and thin. Boba whines again, pushing against the stranger's leg. The hand shifts down, sliding over the top of Boba's head, fingers finding that favorite spot behind his ear. The stranger smiles, delighted at the reaction. Spencer's stomach feels funny, so he breaks the silence.

"Hey."

It startles him, and he turns toward Spencer. His wing knocks into the table and he cries out, obviously in pain. Spencer is next to him before he realizes he's moving, sliding an arm around him once again. "Hey," Spencer says again, quieter this time. "You've got to be careful."

The guy is staring at him again. There's pain in the light brown eyes, but there's something else there, too. Something that feels--Spencer searches for a word as he stares back. It feels sort of--

_Infinite._

Spencer shakes his head, breaking their gaze. That's ridiculous.

The guy sucks in a sharp breath and Spencer's head jerks back up. "What? What is it?"

He gets a head shake in response, but a moment later there's a tentative smile. Spencer can feel a blush making its way across his face and he looks back down, clearing his throat. He takes a step back, setting the first aid kit on the table. Luckily enough, there's an ace bandage. He pulls it out, glancing sideways to find the guy watching him intently.

Spencer turns back to him, lifting the bandage. "I'm just going to, um." He makes a gesture toward the injured wing. "Do my best to immobilize it?" There's no response and Spencer kind of feels like an idiot.  
It's a bit hit and miss, seeing as he's never had to do anything like this before. Spencer focuses hard, doing his best to ignore how wickedly soft it is each time his fingers brush a feather. He's just tucking the end under when the stranger speaks.

"Thank you."

The voice is surprisingly deep, a little flat. The guy turns back around and Spencer can't help glancing over his shoulder at the wrapped wing.

"You're taking this well?" There's a little more inflection this time, the question seems to have been on the guy's mind for a while.

Spencer barks a laugh, getting another small smile in return. He replies, "Oh, I'm fairly sure I'm dreaming this whole thing." The smile falls away and Spencer pushes away the feeling of disappointment that rolls through him. Instead he shrugs, and says, "I had a bottle of wine with dinner."

The guy tilts his head. "You have these types of dreams often?" The disbelief is evident and Spencer grins.

"Well, kind of. They generally tend to involve Bre--" Spencer catches himself. "People, attractive people. And less talking." Reaching out, he traces a finger over the top of the uninjured wing. "The wings are new though," he adds quietly. "I think I like them."

He moves his gaze back. The two of them are still close and Spencer can see how absolutely still the guy is, almost as if he's not breathing. He's still watching Spencer.

Spencer drops his hand. Coughing, he takes a step back. "Anyway."

He's a little unsettled, for reasons he can't quite define. Another drink might do him good. He turns, making his way over to the small wine rack on the counter. The Cabernet is obviously doing a kick-ass job so he grabs the last bottle and goes to work on getting it open. The silence is a little unnerving, so over his shoulder he asks, "Any particular reason you were taking a midnight dip in my pool?"

There's no answer and Spencer looks over. The guy is just standing there, staring ahead. Spencer says, "Hey, earth to--" He didn't even give his hallucination a name. "Earth to John."

"Ryan."

Spencer nearly drops the wine bottle as the cork suddenly gives. "What?"

He finally turns to look at Spencer. "My name is Ryan. Jon is the other one."

"Wait." Spencer feels confused. It doesn't stop him from pouring a glass of wine though. "Other one what?"

Ryan cocks his head to the side, looking at Spencer as if he was an idiot.

"Angel. Jon is the other angel."

Spencer drinks his entire glass of wine in one go.

><

The first thing Spencer notices when he wakes up is that Boba is not in his usual spot. That thought is quickly circumvented by the pounding headache ringing through his skull. Stumbling out of bed, he hits the bathroom to empty his bladder, brush his teeth, and swallow back several ibuprofen.

He wanders into the kitchen and hits the button on the coffee machine. The low murmur of the television from the living room makes him frown. He must have drank more than he thought to have left it on last night.

"Crazy dream," he murmurs, pulling a cup down from the cupboard. He turns toward the fridge and drops the mug in his hand. He lets out a pained, "Fuck!" as it lands heavily on his foot. There's a guy standing on the other side of the bar, head tilted to the side as he stares at Spencer. Spencer can see the bandage wrapped around one wing.

The bandage he'd wrapped around it.

After pulling the guy from his pool.

"Good morning, Spencer. Did you sleep well?"

"Fuck," Spencer says again.

>><<

It's not like he's _forgotten_ about Spencer, not really.

He'd been two seconds away from finding Spencer and kicking his ass, but then there'd been Jon. Jon, with no last name but a million levels of awesome, and there'd been so many other things to worry about than Spencer and his stupid reactions. No matter that he's been dying to tell Spencer all about the man with no memory he'd found that could apparently call kittens with his awesome kitten superpowers. Or the fact that he'd tamed the wild Dr. Bob, who's now talking to Greta about regular things, not just barking orders. Greta's been over the moon for the last two days and Brendon can't regale him with the tale because Spencer is a giant dick.

It feels like the phone is shrieking and Brendon flings out an arm, hurrying to make the noise stop as soon as possible. He gets a glimpse of the caller ID before he hits _Answer_.

"You are such a prissy bitch, Spencer Smi--"

"Get over here. Now."

Brendon can hear the panic in Spencer's voice. He frowns. "Spence--"

" _Please_ "

Spencer never freaks but right now he sounds like the one time a year ago, when Crystal had been in a car accident. It had nearly taken an act of God and all of Brendon's persuasive abilities to keep him from flying out to Vegas immediately. "Spencer," Brendon says again, "is everyone okay?"

"Yeah. Yes," he responds. Down the line, Brendon can hear him sigh. When Spencer speaks again, his voice is calmer. "Everyone is fine, I just--I just need you to come over. Please." Brendon tells him okay and they hang up a moment later.

It's not a major emergency, but the initial sound in Spencer voice pushes Brendon to move a little faster than normal, hopping down the hallway as he pulls on his jeans. Jon is asleep on the couch and Brendon has to take a moment to just stare because seriously, his life is surrounded by hot guys and it's so sad that he's not getting any.

Brendon shakes the thought off, there are more important things to worry about right now.

He digs inside his converse, using old socks, and grabs a hoodie off the counter. A short note to Jon and he's out the door.

The twenty-five minute drive to Spencer's place only takes fifteen since it's so early in the morning, but it still allows Brendon time to go over the phone conversation in his head. The level of emergency downgrades the more he rolls it around in his head. It's important, or Spencer wouldn't have called, but nobody is going to lose a limb or anything.

By the time Brendon gets out of the car, Spencer's got the door open. And he feels a whole lot better about the level of emergency because Spencer's only wearing pajama bottoms. They hang really low on his hips. Really, _really_ low. Brendon only stumbles a little as he makes his way to the door.

"You're a dick--" is all he manages before Spencer wraps a hand around his arm and drags him inside.  
"What the hell, Smith--"

Spencer manhandles him around and at first, Brendon can't really see with the morning light shining in through the glass patio doors. The sun's reflecting off the pool, blinding in its intensity, so it takes a second for his eyes to realize what they're seeing, the light outlining gold around the wings.

The body turns and Brendon murmurs, "What the fuck?" even as his breath catches a moment later. Brown hair curls around a rounded face, huge eyes and a generous mouth, and Brendon breathes out, "Wow, Smith. Your angel's hot."

Brendon can feel Spencer's glare; it's practically burning holes into the back of his head. It's confirmed when Spencer's acid, "Really, Brendon? That's what you're starting with?" Brendon shrugs, unable to look away. It's true.

"It's true," he says aloud. "What else do you want me to say? It's not like I've been in this situation before. Also, you haven't answered any of my phone calls in the last week. You're a dick. And I can find your angel hot."

"It's not my angel, jackass. His name is Ryan."

"Huh," Brendon responds. Just then he notices the bandage on the left wing. "What did you do, beat him up?"

Spencer snarls, "Fuck you, B," just as Ryan says, "I hurt it when I landed in his pool."

"You--You landed in his pool?" Brendon's not sure what else he's supposed to say. Spencer is still being a first-class jerk and Brendon really isn't that much of a morning person and he's got his own lost boy to take care of. Albeit his doesn't have wings, but still.

And that thought gives him pause. Seriously, what kind of coincidence is it that two complete strangers show up in their lives in the same week?

He can feel Spencer shift behind him, impatient. It's something, that despite the fact that Spencer hasn't answered his calls, that the first person he contacted was Brendon. He shakes his head. It doesn't matter, Brendon is still angry.

And curious. So very, very curious.

"Well, then." Brendon says, moving around the couch and further into the living room. He grins. "Good thing you landed in the water, huh? Hate to see how you'd do on regular ground."

He can practically hear Spencer's eye-roll behind him. "Brendon--"

"No, he's right." Ryan interrupts softly. "It _was_ quite fortuitous. I-" Brendon watches as Ryan looks away, a faint blush on his cheeks. "During the descent, I got distracted. I lost track of--" Ryan pauses, and Brendon can't help taking a couple steps closer. "--of what I was searching for, became disoriented. So, yes, it could have been much worse."

He looks up again, gaze focusing past Brendon. "Spencer was very helpful though, despite the fact that I obviously interrupted his evening."

That catches Brendon's interest and he glances over his shoulder. "Oh? Was he in the middle of something?"

"That's not really relevant--"

Ryan nods. "I believe he was using alcohol as a means to relieve personal troubles." Behind Brendon, Spencer makes a nonplussed sound. A small smile appears on Ryan's face at that. Brendon is _fascinated_. "He didn't quite believe I was real. Not until this morning, of course."

"And that's when he called me," Brendon adds. Ryan nods, eyes smiling.

Startled, Brendon realizes he's standing right next to Ryan. He doesn't remember making his way closer, but they're less than a couple feet apart now. He finds that his gaze keeps going over Ryan's shoulders and a moment later Ryan murmurs, "You can, it's okay."

"Yeah?" Brendon responds quietly, just as Spencer says his name again.

Brendon ignores him, lifting a hand. He hesitates, a breath away, and looks back at Ryan. There's a warmth in Ryan's eyes that Brendon swears he can feel under his hand, even though he's yet to touch. Finally, Brendon lets his hand drop.

He wasn't imagining it, there is a warmth to the silk-smoothness under his fingertips. Brendon curls his fingers a little, the tips sliding under the first layer. The bones feel light under his hand, but Brendon thinks vaguely that they would shatter stone if needed. It's a strange enough thought that Brendon pulls back, hand dropping down to his side. Although it was only seconds, it felt like hours. Ryan's breath is shallow and a little rapid. Brendon realizes his is the same, that they're breathing together.

So strange.

Something Ryan said before filters through Brendon's head, and he's about to ask what exactly Ryan was searching for when Spencer's acidic, "Are you done hitting on him then?" shatters the mood. Brendon watches the frown form on Ryan's face.

With a sigh, Brendon steps away. Making his way over, he stops in front of Spencer.

"You are a dick, Spencer Smith. Good luck with the angel in your living room." He then walks out, leaving Spencer sputtering behind him. "Talk to you later, Ryan!"

>

Jon is still sleeping peacefully when he gets back to the apartment. Brendon sits on the arm of the couch, watching him for a while. Eventually Jon wakes up to find Brendon staring at him. "Bden, what's wrong?"

Brendon shakes his head and can't help asking for the millionth time, "You don't remember anything? Nothing at all?" and Jon frowns at him, obviously concerned. He sits up, about to speak, but something makes him pause and he tilts his head to the side instead, studying Brendon.

"What?" Brendon asks.

Jon just stares at him and says, "There's something about you. You feel--different." He reaches out, running a finger over Brendon's hand. It's the one he'd used to touch Ryan's wing.

That pretty much sums it up for Brendon. The two are obviously connected. Which means, Brendon thinks wildly, that Jon is probably an angel too. Only he doesn't have his wings. He should tell Spencer.

Fuck, he should tell _Ryan_.

Who knows what's going on, maybe Jon's a bad angel and Ryan's come to collect him. The second after he has that thought, Brendon shakes it off. Jon isn't evil. He knows that with his entire being, even though Jon's only been in his life a few days.

And there's the look on Ryan's face when he'd mentioned losing focus on landing. He's searching for Jon all right, but it's not in a bad way. Unless that's not allowed in Heaven, which, you know, there's a big reason Brendon left his faith behind years ago. And fuck God really, if that's even an issue, and great, now Brendon is having to rethink the whole "God" thing and--

Brendon shakes his head.

It's all a little much to deal with right now. He looks up to find Jon still watching him, eyes full of concern. Shit, Brendon thinks. He has to tell Ryan.

Bogart chooses that moment to bark and Brendon nearly falls off the arm. Jon laughs and Brendon looks at him again. Jon's got a great smile. Not quite as good as Spencer's, but Jon's eyes crinkle at the corners and it's easy to tell that he's happy. Brendon can feel a little twist in his gut.

Just for another day. He'll just take one more day and then he'll tell them.

>><<

Spencer stares at the closed door in disbelief.

"I take it that didn't go as well as you wanted it to?" Spencer snorts in response. He needs a drink.

The clock on the wall reads 9:25.

"Fuck," Spencer says out loud. For a split second he thinks he should feel bad about cursing in front of an angel, but Ryan looks a little too amused for it to be a problem. Spencer glares instead. "You two seemed to hit it off like hotcakes."

Ryan frowns at him. "What does that mean?"

Running a hand through his hair, Spencer tries not to curse again. It's ridiculous. All of a sudden he's jealous of an _angel_. The way Brendon had gone still while standing there next to Ryan. The hand curving around the top of Ryan's wing. "Fuck it," he mutters, heading back into the kitchen. At the back of the shelf above the fridge there's a bottle of Glenlivet. He pours a shot and kicks it back.

The warm hits his stomach immediately. He sets the shot glass down, staring into the living room.

"So." Spencer pours himself another shot. "You are not a piece of my imagination then."

Ryan moves to stand across the bar, mirroring earlier. "No, I am not." He stares at the bottle and the glass in Spencer's hands. Spencer lifts the bottle in his direction and Ryan shakes his head. "I've never--"

It's not a no. Spencer grabs another shot glass. Filling it up, he slides it over and waits.

>

Unsurprisingly, angels do not have very high tolerances. Not that Spencer has much room to talk at the moment as he watches the living room fan spin round and round from his vantage point of the floor.

He's going to hell.

"What is this?" Each word is carefully enunciated and when Spencer glances over, Ryan's pressing down on his bottom lip as if he's trying to feel the words. It makes Spencer smile. He may be going to hell, but at least it's entertaining.

His smile drops when he sees the CD that Ryan is holding. "Nothing,"

"But it has Brendon's name on it."

Heaving himself over, Spencer knee-walks toward Ryan. He snatches the case away and with a put-upon sigh, flips it open to grab the disc. Only it's empty.

Spencer can feel his cheeks warming when he closes the case, places it back down and reaches over to hit the power button on the stereo. He'd forgotten that he'd been listening to it last night before heading out to the pool.

Ryan jumps a little as the guitar comes in immediately, quick and loud. He glances down Spencer, curious and Spencer gets to see his face when Brendon's voice rolls out of the speakers. A delighted smile spreads across Ryan's face. It's only a self-recorded album of covers, but, well. It's _Brendon_. Spencer can totally relate.

With another sigh, he crawls back to his spot and flops back down on his back. A second later, Ryan stands over him. "Why are you so mean to Brendon? You like him."

Ryan is back-lit again, the noon sun haloing him. Along with question, it's a little too much to take and Spencer flings his arm across his eyes, muttering, "Ugh."

He can feel the rustle of movement beside him, the shift in the air that lets him know that someone is close. Rolling his arm up, he glances over. Ryan is lying next to him, on his stomach, injured wing carefully situated. He's no longer staring at Spencer, but listening, chin on his hand, to Brendon sing. Glad to be free of answering the question, Spencer goes back to staring at the ceiling and does the same.

"I like this one," Ryan says a few minutes later. It's Brendon's cover of _Three Little Birds_ , one of Spencer's favorites. Spencer rolls his head to the side and says quietly, "Right?"

His gaze catches the bandage on Ryan's wing and he asks if it hurts. Ryan gives him a small smile and says, "Not at the moment, no." That makes Spencer laughs.

Ryan stares and finally Spencer asks him what he's looking at. "You should smile more," Ryan tells him. "It's beautiful."

Spencer swallows and looks back up at the ceiling. They sit there in silence for a bit, until Ryan shifts, his wing brushing Spencer's arm. "They're warm," he murmurs. The alcohol is getting to him, he's feeling pretty sleepy. Ryan moves again, covering the arm entirely, then shifting to cover Spencer's chest. Spencer's breaths are deepening so he misses the little shiver as his breath ruffles the feathers on the top of Ryan's wing. He misses the way Ryan rests his cheek on his arm and just watches.

><

Spencer's disoriented when he wakes, warm and surrounded by white. It takes him a second to realize that Ryan's wing is less than two inches away from his face. His breath flutters the closest feather. He lifts his head, absently wiping away a cooling line of drool left over from sleep.

Boba's got his head resting on Ryan's calf. He opens his eyes when Spencer shifts, and barely moves at all when Spencer rises to his feet as quietly as possible. It makes Spencer smile. His attention shifts when the sound of his phone rings tinnily from his room. It must be what woke him up.

He glances down to make sure it didn't wake Ryan, but the angel doesn't move. Satisfied, Spencer makes his way down the hall.

It turns out to not to be important. He goes to toss the phone back on his bed, when he pauses. After a second, he hits the _Missed_ button on his recent calls. The page fills with Brendon's name. It's the same in his text messages.

"Blergh," he mutters and rubs a hand across his face. He really should go talk to Brendon. Like a civil person. Being an adult really blows on occasion.

He's still wearing sleep pants, so he switches them out for jeans and slips one of his favorite t-shirts on. In the bathroom he brushes his teeth and uses water from the faucet to slick back his hair. There's a feeling of déjà vu as he pauses, staring at his reflection. This time, though, it's definitely not a dream.

With a sigh, Spencer heads back to the living room.

Only to find Ryan's no longer on the floor where he left him. Looking around, Spencer finds him standing in the dining area a few feet away. He doesn't think the relief that floods him.

"Hey," he says. Ryan looks up from whatever was holding his attention on the table. "I'm going to go out for a sec." He carefully doesn't mention Brendon's name, but something on Ryan's face makes him think he doesn't need to. There's no verbal response so Spencer adds, "I should be back soon though."

Ryan just continues to look at him, not saying anything.

"So," Spencer waves a hand. "Just hang around here until I get back?" That sparks amusement in Ryan's eyes and Spencer rolls his eyes. He walks over and hits the power button on the remote and the TV blares to life. When he looks back over his shoulder, Ryan has stepped back into the living room, eager. Spencer gestures toward the remote--he has vague memories of showing it to Ryan last night--and says awkwardly, "I shouldn't be too long, so."

Ryan still doesn't answer, not until Spencer touches his elbow. "Ryan?" There's a distracted nod and Spencer sighs.

At the door, he looks back over his shoulder. Ryan hasn't moved, still standing in the middle of the living room. Boba is sitting at his feet, watching him. With a shake of his head, Spencer turns and walks out the door.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Brendon nearly missteps when he reaches the top of the stairs just in time to see Spencer raising his hand to knock on the apartment door. Spencer drops his hand, jerking around at Brendon's rather loud, "Hey."   
  
"Brendon," Spencer nods. He's having a hard time meeting Brendon's eyes, which suits Brendon just fine after this morning's behavior. The ensuing awkward silence also gives him time to stare, taking in the well-worn jeans. Spencer's been too thin a couple times in the past, but this is the way Brendon likes him best, with just enough of a belly that his shirt is just a little too tight.    
  
Spencer clears his throat and Brendon jerks, realizing he's caught staring. All he gets is a raised eyebrow, but Brendon revels in the slight tinge of color on Spencer's cheeks. It's so weird, like all of a sudden Brendon can't help pushing  _all_  the buttons he's been ignoring since meeting Spencer. He takes a step closer; Spencer goes still.    
  
And that's when Jon opens the door.    
  
"I thought I heard your voice." Jon is smiling and Brendon can help returning it. It's nice to come home to someone who's happy to see him. Between them, he can see Spencer frown. It makes all his earlier desperate thoughts come flooding back.    
  
Something must show on his face because Jon's smile falters. He glances uncertainly toward Spencer, mouth opening to speak. There isn't a chance though as Spencer steps back abruptly. Before Brendon can blink, he's already to the stairs, a terse, "I'll call you," trailing him.    
  
"Did I do something wrong?" Jon asks, drawing Brendon's attention back. There's a puzzled, hurt look on Jon's face. "Was I not supposed to open the door?"   
  
"No," Brendon grinds out. "You didn't do anything. I'll be right back, okay?"   
  
Without waiting for a response, Brendon turns and flies down the stairs. He catches Spencer at the bottom of the stairs and grabs his arm. "What the hell was that about?"    
  
Spencer's voice is cold when he he says, "I wasn't aware that you were living with someone, Urie."    
  
"Don't give me that Bitch Face, Spencer Smith." Brendon is seething. "Last time I checked,  _you_  were being the jerk.  _You_  were the one not answering my calls.  _You_  were the rude one this morning." He pokes a finger into Spencer's chest, adding, "You don't get to be mad about this now, Spence.  _I_  do."    
  
Spencer refuses to look at him and Brendon's left to stare at his jaw, watching the muscles there twitch. Some of his anger fades, replaced by curiosity. He's finally got Spencer cornered, no distractions. In a quieter voice, he continues, "I'm the one that made the move. The one that put it all out there--"    
  
"Why?" Spencer bursts out, attention snapping back Brendon. There's a fire in his eyes, and a spark of fear that turns the blue crystal sharp. Brendon's breath catches. "Why?" Spencer repeats, scowling. "Why do you always have to do that, Brendon? We're  _friends_ . Why do you have to change that?"    
  
Without waiting for an answer, Spencer turns and strides across the foyer. He hits the door with enough force that Brendon jumps. He stands there, working on getting his heart to slow down. "But you let me," he says softly to the empty air.    
  
"Brendon?" He turns to find Jon standing at the top of the stairs, watching him. "Everything okay?"   
  
>    
  
"Brendon?"    
  
He brushes past Jon, asking instead, "You hungry?" Without waiting for an answer, he heads into the kitchen and pulls a saucepan out of the cabinet, tossing it onto the stove. It lands with a loud clatter, and from the corner of his eye Brendon can see Jon flinch. Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath.    
  
"It's fine. I'm fine," he adds. The look on Jon's face says he doesn't believe Brendon and for an instant, it makes him miss Shane. Shane never believed his bullshit either. Shaking away the melancholy thoughts, Brendon gives Jon a small smile. "Nothing some spaghetti won't cure, I promise. Sound good?"    
  
He watches Jon think, trying to remember if he likes spaghetti, when a rumble from his stomach answers for him. Brendon can't help laughing at the startled look on Jon's face. "I'll take that as a yes," he laughs. "Wanna help?"    
  
>    
  
Later, empty plates sitting on the coffee table, the television throwing the room into half-shadows, Jon asks quietly, "Who is Spencer?"    
  
Brendon stares blankly at the TV. "Spencer is---" He's just so  _tired_ . "Spencer is a friend." Jon doesn't say anything.    
  
"A really hot friend," Brendon adds, glancing over to find Jon watching him intently. Clearing his throat, Brendon turns back toward the TV. "But I've had hot friends before, you know. And I've done really well, I'm usually really good at not thinking about it. Not doing stupid things to ruin good friendships." Okay, that's not necessarily true, but Audrey was kind of the exception to every good idea Brendon had.    
  
Jon's voice breaks into his thoughts. "What happened?"    
  
Digging the heel of his hand into eye, Brendon groans and sinks down lower on the couch.    
  
"Brendon?"    
  
"I kissed him," Brendon finally answers. Holding up a finger, he adds, "However, he challenged me to do it. I am not entirely blameless in this--" He waves his hand around, "--whatever it is."   
  
"The thing is," Brendon says after a few moments of silence. "The thing is that I didn't think it would be that big a deal. It was just a kiss, you know? A simple little kiss," he trails off. That's what it was supposed to be anyway. Brendon was just going to give him a silly little peck then step back and laugh it off. Only Spencer's lips had been so damn warm and Brendon fit perfectly against him and then Spencer had to go open his mouth, nip Brendon's bottom lip--    
  
"--and then next thing you know Sheila or Shelly or whatever the fuck her name was had to wander in calling for Spencer. You would have thought I had the fuckin' plague at that point." Brendon scowls, glancing over at Jon.    
  
Jon, who's looking a little dazed, his eyes wide.    
  
"Sorry," Brendon breathes out, sinking back into the couch. He'd apparently gotten himself a bit worked up. He gives Jon a chagrined smile. "Bet you weren't expected me to dump that all over you, huh?"    
  
Jon shakes his head, honest, and says, "To be fair though, I did ask." It makes Brendon laugh.    
  
After a minute, Jon asks, "Was it worth it?" At the questioning look on Brendon's face, he adds, "Was it worth it? Taking that leap?"    
  
Brendon thinks about that, chewing on his bottom lip. Finally, he answers, "I don't know. I think so?" He shrugs. "Things are all weird now--" Understatement of the decade, "--and even though he's not really gone, I kinda miss him."    
  
Jon doesn't say anything.    
  
>    
  
They sit there in the dark for a little while. Brendon's mind is a million miles away, and he can tell that Jon's attention isn't on anything in the room either. Neither of them say a word, not until Brendon gets up to go to bed.    
  
"I miss someone, too, I think." Jon's voice is quiet. "I just--I get the feeling that there was someone with me, someone that--" He breaks off, frustrated, looking over at Brendon. The light from the television plays across Jon's face. His eyes are hard to read in the dark, but his voice isn't. "Can I miss something that I don't even remember?"    
  
Brendon doesn't have a real answer, but it doesn't stop the guilt rolling around in his stomach.    
  
>><<   
  
Ryan doesn't say a word when Spencer comes back from Brendon's. Spencer slams into the house and Ryan just watches him, silent, as he stomps around like a bear. After a few minutes, Spencer starts feeling like an asshole and finally just flops down on the couch, eyes closed. The leather is cool against the small of his back. The scene from Brendon's keeps playing over and over again in his head.    
  
He can feel Ryan's gaze on him and he wants to lash out, frustrated, but he doesn't. Instead, he glances over to find Ryan sitting at a strange angle in his recliner. Raising an eyebrow, he asks, "is that even comfortable?" He catches a glimpse of what Ryan's holding and blurts out, "You can read?"    
  
Ryan's look is classic. Spencer backpedals, laughing, "Sorry, sorry."    
  
Sitting up, he runs both hands through his hair and then lets them drop between his knees. Ryan continues to just stare at him.    
  
"What did you find?" Spencer finally asks. When Ryan holds it up,  _Plato's Dialogues_  in-scripted on the cover, Spencer huffs. "A little light reading, huh? I'm not even sure that one's been opened before."    
  
So many of his books are for show, given to him as graduation gifts by his father's pretentious business partners. Spencer's not even sure why he still keeps them out. Or, at least, he doesn't like to think about why he does. Ryan's made his way through quite a bit of it though. Spencer jerks his chin.    
  
"So. How is it then?"    
  
><   
  
Spencer uses some sick leave and takes off work for the next few days. Brendon doesn't call, but Spencer doesn't dwell on that as he's got an angel lounging around his house that requires attention. It helps that after one too many knowing looks, Spencer tosses his cell into the drawer beside his bed.    
  
Being around Ryan is, to put it mildly, calming. Spencer attributes it to the whole 'angel' thing, but there's something else about him. Spencer knows he's a bit stand-offish; he's cultivated that particular shield over the years. But Ryan doesn't know him, doesn't know his father's money or his mother's charity work, and it's just so _easy_  to let his guard down. To be himself. He hasn't felt this comfortable around anyone since, well, Brendon.    
  
Ryan loves to read. Two mornings in a row, Spencer wanders into the living room, scrubbing the sleep from his eyes, to find Ryan with a book in his hand.    
  
"Do you ever sleep?" Ryan shrugs and says instead, "I made coffee."    
  
>    
  
Spencer ignores his regular weekend invites. Instead, the two of them go through Spencer's music.    
  
It's 2:30 in the morning and Paul McCartney's voice is fading when Spencer asks, "What's going on, Ryan?"    
  
The two of them are back on the floor of the living room. Ryan's on his stomach, still the easiest position with his injured wing. Spencer's leaning against the couch, wine glass loose in his hand. When Ryan doesn't answer, he pulls his head up off the couch cushion and looks over. Ryan's chin is on his hands, his eyes closed.    
  
"Ryan?    
  
With a sigh, Ryan stretches, his wings shifting. Spencer vaguely notes that the injured one moves, too. It's not quite as far or as easy as the healthy one, but it's a definite improvement. The motion makes Spencer frown for some reason. "Ry?" he prompts again.   
  
"We're not supposed to leave," he finally responds. "There are those that can. Guardians, of course, but Jon and I aren't--we aren't supposed to leave Heaven." Ryan's eyes open, but Spencer can tell his thoughts are far away from here.    
  
"But Jon--" There's a small shrug, "Jon was always curious, constantly trying to get a glimpse. He always wanted to know  _more_ . I could never understand it, that urge." There's a lull of another song ending. The next one starts up and Spencer barely catches Ryan's, "I do now though, I understand."   
  
He sounds infinitely sad.    
  
Spencer can't help himself. He asks quietly, "What happened, Ryan?"    
  
Turning his head toward Spencer, Ryan gives another small shrug. "He jumped." The tip of one wing brushes Spencer's ankle and he shivers in response. "What?"    
  
"We're not supposed to leave," Ryan repeats. He closes his eyes again. "So he jumped."    
  
>    
  
A few minutes later Spencer asks, "How did you get here then?"    
  
Ryan jerks, like he'd almost been asleep. His eyelashes flutter, opening, and he glances over. Spencer asks his question again.    
  
"There are certain...rules," he responds. It's hesitant, like he's not really supposed to be telling these things, but he continues. "So if you do it right--follow these 'rules'--you can get permission. To visit."    
  
Spencer cocks his head. "Just visit?"    
  
"Yes," Ryan nods. "There's always a time limit for those of us that aren't Guardians."    
  
"So you only have so long then. To find Jon, right?" He gets another nod. "What happens if you don't find him?" The question,  _What if you do find him?_  runs through his head. He shakes it away.    
  
"He's lost to Heaven then. A mortal being, subject to all that entails."    
  
"That wouldn't be so bad, would it?" Spencer asks. "You'd see him again eventually, yeah?"    
  
Ryan shakes his head. The faraway look is back in his eyes. "He's bound to the Earth then." At Spencer's questioning noise, he clarifies, "He'd be bound to the Earth. Continuously re-born in an endless cycle."    
  
"Basically--" Ryan's wings pull in tight and Spencer can see the small pained flinch. "I would never see him again."   
  
There's not a hell of a lot Spencer can say to that, so he drinks the rest of his wine instead and they sit in silence, listening to the music.    
  
>><<    
  
The  _Recording_  light glow isn't the only thing that Brendon notices when he glances up. Spencer is standing behind the board techs. It makes him slip a little, but the guys don't seem to notice so he keeps playing. The drums are his favorite and he doesn't get a lot of call to record them, so he always takes the time to get them perfect. If anyone asks, that's the reason he'll give for making them record it two more times. It's an honest, if not the only, reason.    
  
By the time he calls it a wrap, Spencer's about to come through the glass. With a sigh, Brendon grabs his towel. Wiping his face off, he takes a deep breath and heads for the door.    
  
"Hello-" is barely out of his mouth before Spencer has a hand on his elbow, tucking the two of them into a nearby corner. He crowds Brendon back against the wall and for a split second, Brendon thinks,  _This is it_ . He gets the oddest feeling of utter elation and stomach butterflies.    
  
Instead, Spencer says, "We need to find Jon," and the bottom completely falls out of Brendon's stomach. He preferred the butterflies.    
  
  
For a split second, Brendon nearly tells him. Then he remembers that he's basically been hiding this fact from Spencer for a reason, selfish as it may be, and that Spencer is going to be even  _more_  pissed off once he finds out. It makes him hesitate.    
  
Spencer's phone goes off before he can say anything. With a curse, Spencer pulls it out, half-turning away. It gives Brendon a minute, one to gather his wits and two, to stare at Spencer's profile. From the sound of it, there's an issue at the office that's requires his presence. He listens to Spencer argue until finally he growls, "I'll be there in 20," and shoves the phone back in his pocket.    
  
To Brendon, "We need to talk." Running a hand through his hair, Spencer says, "Come by the house, okay. Six-thirty or so." It looks like he wants say more, but all he adds is a quiet, "Please."    
  
Brendon nods. Spencer reaches out, but drops his arm before it makes contact. Instead, he turns and begins walking down the hallway. Over his shoulder, he repeats, "Six-thirty, Bren."    
  
The nickname brings the stomach butterflies back. Now if he can only figure out the Jon situation.    
  
>    
  
Brendon gets a last minute call himself and heads back into the studio. It takes longer than he wants, so it's nearly three hours later than he was expecting by the time he heads through the door of the apartment. Which is unlocked. Again.    
  
Throwing his keys on the hall table, he hollers, "Jon, I told you to keep the door loc-- _shit_ ."    
  
"I got done early," Spencer says, in lieu of a greeting. "And I thought I would preempt this evening, come by so we could talk."    
  
Brendon swallows hard.    
  
"You weren't home." Spencer continues. He gestures to Jon, sitting beside him on the couch, and glancing between the two of them. "However, your friend Jon was happy to let me wait with him."    
  
"I can explain--"    
  
"Yes," Spencer interrupts. Rising up off the couch, he walks over to stand in front of Brendon. Each word is sharp, distinct, as he says, "Yes, you can. Tonight. Please bring your  _guest_ ." Over Spencer's shoulder, Brendon watches Jon frown. It deepens at Spencer's stiff, "Nice meeting you, Jon."    
  
They both flinch at the slamming door.    
  
><    
  
He's not entirely sure what to expect when they get there, and he couldn't--wouldn't--answer any of Jon's questions on the way over, but the way Ryan's face lights up makes him simultaneously feel like the world's biggest jackass and the best Santa ever, rolled into one.    
  
"Jon!"    
  
Even Spencer looks startled at the change in Ryan's demeanor, and Brendon has to fight the urge to stick his tongue out like a kid. Ryan rushes forward then, and Jon takes a startled step back. Ryan's face falls just as quickly as it lit up. "Jon?"    
  
"You didn't warn him?" Brendon asks, glancing at Spencer. The look on Spencer's face says it all. Ryan frowns, turning around. Brendon can Jon's sharp intake of breath as Ryan's wings come into full view. They're pretty spectacular, startlingly white against the backdrop of the living room. "You knew where he was?"    
  
Spencer rushes to reassure him. "I just found out today, Ry. I swear."    
  
It's Brendon's turn to feel sheepish, and he's half-expecting Spencer to point the finger at him but it doesn't happen. He still gets an eyebrow though, and a quick glare.    
  
"You're injured."    
  
Without Brendon's notice, Jon has moved closer to Ryan. His words get everyone's attention though and Ryan turns back around. Jon seems unfazed by the fact that Ryan's sporting a giant-ass set of wings, that there's an angel in the middle of the room. He even starts to reach out, but drops his hand awkwardly. Ryan's face softens immediately. "Does it hurt much?"    
  
"Hardly at all right now," Ryan answers quietly. Embarrassed, Jon ducks his chin, but there's a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. Ryan stares at Jon's down-turned head and Brendon has to look away from the raw emotion on his face.    
  
Unfortunately, he's now staring at Spencer, and Spencer has a strange look on his face, one that Brendon might call jealousy. But that doesn't quite feel right, and a moment later Brendon realizes it's the same one rolling around in his stomach--protectiveness.    
  
And, okay, maybe a  _little_  jealousy.   
  
>    
  
It obviously perturbs Ryan that Jon can't remember him; however, it doesn't stop him from spending as much time as possible around him. Neither Spencer nor Brendon want to be the bad guy, which means they end up hanging around each other.    
  
It's almost like it used to be. Almost.    
  
>    
  
"People are staring," Brendon whispers urgently. Spencer just glares, at Brendon and then at the older couple a few feet away. They quickly turn away and Brendon giggles. He hip-checks Spencer and gets a glare of his own.    
  
Brendon sighs.    
  
>>    
  
"Wow. I knew you were skinny, Ryan, but those are some chicken le--aaahhh!" Brendon lands in the water with splash. Making his way to the surface, he sputters, "Spencer Smith!"    
  
"Don't--" Spencer starts to say, but it's too late. Brendon sends a giant spray of water out of the pool. It's worth the look on Spencer's face to hear Jon and Ryan's laughter ring out over the yard.    
  
>>    
  
There are blue circles under Spencer's eyes when he answers the door. Jon brushes by him, already talking to Ryan, before Brendon can even say hello.    
  
"We've listened to the Beatles a thousand times," Spencer grumbles. "And he doesn't sleep."    
  
Brendon gives him a sympathetic smile and reaches out to put a hand on Spencer's shoulder. He doesn't secretly thrill at the fact that Spencer lets him. He  _doesn't_ .    
  
>>    
  
Stopping in the doorway, Brendon watches the two of them in the back yard. The night is still, but they're quiet, only a word or two float across the air. The moon is painting Ryan's wings nearly luminescent. He should say something, tell them to come inside.    
  
"I wonder if he misses it." Spencer's words startle Brendon. For a moment, he's not quite sure which one Spencer's referring to. The line of warmth behind him is a little distracting as well. A small noise makes him look over his shoulder to find Spencer standing there with two glances of wine. With a quiet thanks, he takes one and then turns back.    
  
Spencer's question reminds him of Jon's question a few weeks ago. A moment later, he says, "I think a better question is, does it miss him?"    
  
Spencer stays quiet.    
  
><   
  
Jon's been distracted all evening and finally Brendon can't stand it any longer. Digging his toes under Jon's thigh, he wiggles them until Jon finally looks over. His eyes are warm and he sticks a couple of fingers between the couch and Brendon's feet, tickling in retaliation. Brendon yelps and Jon laughs, asking, "What?"    
  
With a mock glare, Brendon shrugs. "You've been thinking all night. Just wondering what was on your mind."    
  
Jon hums. After a moment, he asks, "You like kissing, right?" Brendon nearly chokes. That's not really what he was expecting. It doesn't help when Jon adds, "And you kiss someone on the mouth when you really like them. That's what I've noticed anyway."    
  
"I'm not--" Brendon at a loss for words, not sure how he's supposed to respond. "What brought this on?" he asks instead.    
  
It's Jon's turn to shrug this time, a mannerism that makes Brendon a little happy to see. It's silly, but it's like a little piece of Brendon. His thought is derailed when Jon tells him, "I think I want to kiss Ryan."    
  
"Oh." His mind goes a little blank. "Well then."   
  
>><<   
  
Brendon's acting weird and Spencer's not sure he has the patience to deal with it right now.    
  
He and Jon are already at the house when Spencer finally gets off work, and he's on Spencer the second he comes through the door. A hand on his elbow, he practically drags Spencer past the living room and into the kitchen. Brendon's been pushing his space limits again, but Spencer's too tired to care.    
  
He watches Brendon peak out to the living room, watches a little satisfied smile pop up. Spencer ignores the flip in his belly to ask, "What are you doing?"    
  
That gets him a 'hold on' hand wave. A moment later, Brendon turns his head, smile widening. "Jon told me--" His smile drops as he gets a good look at Spencer. Straightening, he turns fully toward Spencer.    
  
"You okay? You look--" He breaks off, grimacing.    
  
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Spencer just says, "Long day, that's all."    
  
"Spence?" He can hear Brendon move, feel him step closer.    
  
"We just--" His throat is tight all of a sudden. Swallowing, he tries again. "One of our clients, Mrs. Copia, passed away. I've spent all day with lawyers. Not my favorite kind of day."    
  
"She was the one with the dog, right? The little greyhound." Brendon snaps his fingers. "Dylan, yeah?"    
  
Spencer glances at Brendon, surprised. Brendon smiles sheepishly, shrugging a shoulder. "Dylan. You said she was a fan, and I thought that was pretty cool for an old lady."    
  
"Yeah," Spencer responds. His voice is rough. Clearing his throat, he adds, "She  _was_  pretty cool for an old lady. I just didn't expect you to remember that. It was--Shit, that was a  _year_  ago."    
  
Brendon shrugs again, glancing down for a second. "You talked about her quite a bit." He looks back up at Spencer. "It was obvious you liked her."    
  
It's true. The whole day had been hellish, meeting after meeting with lawyers about her will, her estate, her estranged family. And all Spencer could think about was that damn dog, waiting at home for Mrs. Copia to come home and wondering why she didn't.    
  
Fuck.    
  
"Hey." Brendon's voice is quiet, close. Spencer looks up to meet sympathetic brown eyes. "Why don't you go change? I'll order Thai for all of us and we'll just relax." He smiles softly. "We'll have a toast to the great Mrs. Copia and listen to a little Dylan in her honor. How's that sound?"    
  
"She'd approve, I think." Brendon's smile widens. That stupid flip is back in his stomach. Spencer turns to head toward his room. He's only a few steps away when he pauses. "Brendon?"    
  
"Yeah?"    
  
Without turning, Spencer says, "Thank you."    
  
"That's what friends are for, Spencer Smith." The  _idiot_  is implied, and Spencer makes his way back to the bedroom feeling better than he has all day.    
  
><    
  
Ryan's wing is healing.    
  
It's the elephant in the room. A phrase that makes Spencer want to laugh out loud.    
  
His wing may be healing, but something else is bothering him. When he asks though, Ryan acts like Spencer's imagining things. Jon hasn't noticed, or is ignoring it if he has, but Spencer's fairly sure that Brendon's seen it. Spencer's caught Brendon watching them, frowning when he doesn't think anyone's looking.    
  
So not only is Spencer worried about Ryan, he's got whatever is bothering Brendon to think about, too. It's enough to keep Spencer from sleeping.    
  
>    
  
As Spencer closes the door, Brendon and Jon's  _good nights_  echo in his ears. He turns and Ryan practically deflates, shoulders dropping. His wings look a little dull in the light of the living room; it's something else that Spencer's noticed this week.    
  
"Everything okay?"    
  
Ryan doesn't look at him, nodding. "I'm tired, that's all."    
  
Folding his arms, Spencer glares. "You don't get tired, Ryan." That gets him a look. "And your wing is healed, I know it is. But you haven't said a word about it." He should be angry, but he can't help the worry that slips into his, "Tell me what's going on.  _Please._  "    
  
Ryan bites his lip, but doesn't say anything.    
  
Throwing his hands up in frustration, Spencer huffs, "Fine!" and moves toward the hallway. "I'm going to bed then."    
  
His voice is so soft that Spencer almost misses it, but the words stop him cold.    
  
"It's almost time."    
  
When he turns, it's to find Ryan's back still to him. The edges of his wings are definitely duller. "Oh." Spencer swallows hard. "How long?"    
  
"I'm not sure, not really." Ryan turns his head and Spencer watches his profile. "I can feel it though."    
  
"Yeah?" Ryan nods. "What--what does it feel like?"    
  
They haven't really talked about these particular things. Another elephant in the room, so to speak. Not a taboo subject, but more like the less they spoke about it, the less it meant moments like this would happen. Spencer can't help it though. "Does it hurt?"    
  
All he gets is a shrug in response.    
  
"What about Jon?" Spencer finally asks.    
  
Ryan turns his face away again. "I don't think Jon will go back with me."    
  
"Did you  _ask_  him?" There's no answer and Spencer sighs, frustrated. Moving to stand in front of Ryan, he says, "You need to at least ask him, Ry."    
  
Something shifts in Ryan's face. Spencer knows the answer before he says, "I can't--" Ryan shakes his head. "He still doesn't remember and I can't--" He breaks on the same word again. "I can't ask him to leave like that."    
  
"Won't you tell him how you feel at least?" Spencer throws up his hands. "Maybe that would make a difference, trigger something."    
  
"Tell him how I feel?" Ryan questions. "He knows that I care about him, that all of us do."    
  
"This isn't about  _us_ , Ry." Spencer tilts his head, adding, "This is about the fact that you love him." Ryan stays quiet, staring at him.    
  
"You love him, Ryan." Spencer says again.    
  
"Of course, I do. I love all of you, why would that make a difference?"    
  
"You're not  _in_  love with me or Brendon!" Spencer half-shouts.    
  
"No." Ryan shakes his head. Something like panic flickers in his eyes. "That's not--It doesn't work that way."    
  
"You left Heaven for him, Ryan." Spencer wraps his hands around Ryan's arms. They're still so skinny, his fingers nearly wrap all the way around. Spencer gives him a little shake.    
  
"He jumped." A picture of Brendon, unbidden, pops into Spencer's head. "He jumped and you followed."    
  
Ryan shakes his head again. Spencer's so frustrated he could scream. "What are you so afraid of?"    
  
Spencer isn't sure Ryan is going to answer him, not until he whispers, "Everything would change" Looking directly at Spencer, he repeats, "Everything would change." His next words hit Spencer square in the chest.    
  
"And if you aren't willing to do the same for Brendon, how can you ask that of me?"    
  
Spencer doesn't have an answer for him.    
  
><   
  
Two days later he comes home to find an empty house, Ryan nowhere to be found. It shouldn't surprise him, not really, but he still finds himself sitting on the living room couch in the dark until the familiar knock on the door comes.   
  
><    
  
The boys spend the night moping, listening to the Beatles and getting drunk. Jon passes out on the couch in the living room, Boba keeping watch, his head resting on the couch. Spencer's heading off to bed when Brendon asks, "Can I--?"    
  
"Brendon--"    
  
"Please?" Brendon swallows, staring at the floor. "I just." He looks up at Spencer, a look on his face that Spencer hates. "No funny business, I swear. I just--I don't want to sleep alone tonight, okay?"    
  
Spencer sighs. It's not like he wants to be alone either. "Fine. Come on then."    
  
Brendon follows him quietly, accepting the pair of sleep pants offered to him. He's sitting on the edge of the bed when Spencer gets back from brushing his teeth. "I wasn't sure which side--"    
  
"That's--It's good." Spencer pulls back the covers on the other side, staring down at the cool, white crispness of his sheets. He makes no move to get into bed.    
  
"Fuck."    
  
He can hear Brendon's mirthless laugh. "Right." A moment later he asks, "Did he, I don't know, give a hint? Say anything?"    
  
Spencer finally looks up. He opens his mouth, but doesn't say anything. Brendon's eyes widen. "Why didn't you say anything then?"    
  
"Why?" Spencer flings out a hand. Ryan's words echo in his head. "Would knowing makes this any better? Any easier?"    
  
"Still--"    
  
"It's done," Spencer interrupts. Finally sitting down, he adds. "It's done and he's gone so let's just go to bed. Okay, Brendon?"    
  
Brendon looks like he still wants to argue, but he stays quiet, moving under the covers. Spencer gets back up to switch the light off and when he comes back to the bed, he can see Brendon has turned away, giving him his back. With his own sigh, Spencer slides into bed as well.    
  
It's awkward at first, the tension filling the darkened air. Spencer is physically exhausted, but at the same time feels like he may never sleep again. Brendon's holding himself tight as a drum.    
  
"Brendon." He doesn't respond and Spencer says his name again, adding a quiet, "I'm sorry."    
  
He still doesn't say anything, but Spencer feels him relax. They lay there in silence. Spencer's contemplating getting up and going to sit by the pool when Brendon says, "I hope he's okay."    
  
His words are quiet, even in the silence of the room and Spencer replies truthfully, "Me, too."    
  
Not long after, Spencer hears Brendon's breathing even out. He's a restless sleeper, something that doesn't surprise Spencer. Later on, Brendon rolls over and ends up plastered along Spencer's side. He's warm, almost too hot, but Spencer doesn't move. He just lays there in the dark, thinking.   
  
>><<   
  
Brendon wakes up alone. The spot next to him is still warm, so he knows Spencer hasn't been awake for long. He lays there in bed for a few minutes, letting yesterday roll over him.    
  
Ryan's gone.    
  
Watching the realization hit Jon had been tough, but even Spencer had looked a little shattered as he told them the news. Brendon kept vacillating between anger at Ryan for just taking off and sadness that he wasn't here. It was all very frustrating.    
  
Shuffling down the hallway, Brendon takes a second to piss before peaking into the living room to check on Jon. Jon is still sound asleep on the couch, so Brendon heads into the kitchen to make some coffee. He catches movement outside and watches Spencer as he stares out over the pool. After a moment, he continues to the kitchen.    
  
He's just scooping some coffee grounds into the filter when he hears the soft slide of the patio doors. The sound of bare feet comes into the kitchen and Brendon tells him quietly, "It'll be a few minutes."    
  
Instead of an answer, he gets a warm hand, curling around his hip. Startled, he spins around, dumping grounds across the counter.    
  
"Spencer?!"    
  
There's a half-smile on Spencer's face, eyes bright. It's not something Brendon's expecting, especially not after yesterday. Spencer moves forward again and Brendon holds up a hand. He's tired, confused and says so.    
  
"I have been--" Spencer's smile widens. "Difficult. I'll give you that." Brendon gives him an incredulous look, and Spencer laughs. "Okay, okay. I've been a dick."    
  
His smile drops away, replaced by an intense look that makes Brendon swallow nervously.    
  
"Ryan said--He said some things that got me thinking. And the thing is--" Spencer steps in and this time Brendon doesn't stop him. "The thing is, Bren, you're easy." Brendon's about to protest, when Spencer rushes on. "You're easy to like. You're easy to be around. God knows, we get along better than any other friend I've ever had."    
  
He looks down then, and Brendon watches his eyelashes cast shadows. His breath catches when Spencer looks back up, blue eyes bright in the morning light spilling in from the other room.    
  
"I didn't want that to change. But--" Spencer takes another step. Brendon jerks, the edge of the counter cutting into his back.    
  
"Spencer--"    
  
"But," Spencer repeats, reaching out to anchor Brendon in place. It feels like Spencer's hands are on fire, Brendon can feel every little touch. "Last night I was laying there, thinking about what Ryan said to me. And you rolled over; you moved into me."    
  
"And  _that's_  what I wanted." Spencer adds. "You to be there. When I fall asleep and when I wake up." He leans down, putting his forehead on Brendon's shoulder. Spencer takes a deep breath, his soft, "I  _want_  everything to change," making Brendon shiver.    
  
The heartbeat pounding in his ears makes it really, really hard to think. Finally, he just mumbles, "God, Smith, you are such a pain in my ass."   
  
Spencer nods, forehead still on Brendon's shoulder. "Such a pain in my ass," Brendon whispers again, sliding his hands around Spencer's waist. He gets a shiver in response. Brendon's about to suggest going back to bed when there's a knock on the door. Spencer moves like he's going to answer it, but Brendon can hear Jon moving around and tightens his grip, keeping Spencer in place. "Let Jon get it," he murmurs.    
  
Both their heads come up at Jon's startled gasp. "What--?"    
  
"Hello, Jon."   
  
>>><<<   
  
_He's tired. Tired of always looking down, of seeing only the tops of the clouds, hoping for a glimpse of movement far below.  
  
He's tired of just being.   
  
He wants to  **exist**.   
  
There's a soft rustle and he knows who'll be standing there before he turns around. Brown eyes are watching him, the gaze questioning but soft. Always soft. Even though he's used to it, the voice is surprisingly low as he asks, "What are you doing here?"   
  
One of his visitor's wings shift--a familiar gesture--and it makes the corner of his mouth curl up momentarily. The wing settles and the smile drops.   
  
He takes a step back. The vastness of possibility feels infinite behind him.   
  
It's easy to see the moment of realization, brown eyes widening.   
  
"I will miss you," he whispers, smiling. "Truly I will."   
  
A hand reaches out. "Wait--"   
  
Infinite possibilities. Existence.   
  
He takes the final step._   
  
>>><<<


End file.
